The national rejuvenation of the Israel, which was expressed in a practical manner by the existence of the Zionist movement and the State of Israel, encompasses many different levels, which can be divided into two categories: bringing the secular to life and bringing the holy to life. Rejuvenation of the secular includes returning to all of the realms that we were unable to develop during the bitter days of the exile. This includes political, economic, and military existence, as well as our own culture and the arts.

In the early days of Zionism, religious people objected to having the Zionist Congress concern itself with culture and religion, fearing that this might inhibit cooperation between different sectors of the nation and interfere with achieving the desired political goal of establishing a viable country. Rav Kook was opposed to this approach, and he felt that it was not possible to have an authentic national awakening without a corresponding cultural rejuvenation. This means that it is necessary to become involved in culture in spite of the danger that this might force us to struggle in order to form its proper characteristics (Igrot Re’iyah, 158).

And what constitutes holy rejuvenation? We might have thought that it would consist of returning to traditional religious behavior, which is concerned only with the spiritual fate and the happiness of each individual and not with political rejuvenation – that is, that the nonreligious sector would repent and begin to observe the mitzvot. However, while it is certainly important for every Jew to observe all of the mitzvot, that is not the main focus of the “holy” rejuvenation.

The holy without the secular is weak, and it does not have the power to lift up the lives of the community and of all humanity. Secular living itself contains hidden within it a power of holiness which could not break through during the exile, the “sanctity of nature.” This will be revealed by the process of redemption (see Orot, page 45, and Orot Hakedusha Section 2, 23). This leads us to the conclusion that rejuvenation of the secular is in itself a form of renewal of sanctity and not merely a preliminary step towards the goal.

The denial by religious people of the value of the rebirth of the secular and the view of participation in the Zionist enterprise as a dangerous adventure which is liable to exact too high a price while at the same time raising the banner of religious isolation – all this will lead holiness to become weaker, since it cannot stand alone without the vitality of the secular life. Rav Kook writes:

“In religious circles on the other hand (that is: as opposed to the drying up of the holy sources by the academic secular sector), this can lead to a weakening of force, because of a lack of the secular influence… We must therefore reveal the program of unified spiritual force, since this is our unique secret which will never be revealed to any other nation.” [Igrot Har’iyah, 748].

Religious holiness, which Rav Kook describes as “regular holiness,” is no more than one aspect of true exalted holiness. Exposing the exalted form of holiness, which operates in all realms of life and appears in all its perfection through the combination of the various identities that make up the public face of Israel – religion, nationalistic feeling, and a cosmopolitan outlook (see Orot, pages 70-72) – is the mission of the generation of rejuvenation.

Can our relationship with the Creator be compared to a grocery accounts list connected to a mechanism for collecting debts? The entire system of reward and punishment in the Torah, which Rabbi Yosef Elbo sees as one of the three principle foundations of Judaism (see his book “Ikarim”), is a source of difficulty for any person who truly wants to cling in an ideal way to G-d. The idea of reward and punishment seems to diminish the Creator and to urge us to perform our labors in order to get a reward. However, by definition this is a way of performing the mitzvot which is not “for its own sake,” and is therefore at a relatively low level. Because of this difficulty, Rabeinu Yeshayah Halevi Horwitz discusses the matter. In his book “Shenai Luchot Habrit” (SHELAH), he describes a third principle of clinging to G-d as an alternative to the principle of reward and punishment. He writes that clinging to G-d is the real objective of the system of rewards.

However, we should note that the term the sages used to describe the concept in faith of rewards is not “reward and punishment” but rather “A reward that reflects the good deed” (“mida keneged midah”­) – [Sanhedrin 90a]. In an expanded version this is, “A man is measured in the same way that he measures others” [Mishna Sotta 1:7]. This means that what we see is not really external punishment or reward for the act, rather our actions include within them the consequences, in the same way that our hand becomes wet when we put it in water or is burned by a flame. This is the in-depth meaning of the declaration, “The reward for a mitzva is a mitzva” [Avot 4:2].

Man himself is a vessel that measures the contents of a life, which can either fill it or leave it lacking. Therefore, even though in general it is good to give in to others, one who says, “The Holy One, Blessed be He, gives in to the people, will be forced to give up on his life” [Bava Kama 50a]. In the end, it is not the Holy One, Blessed be He, who gives a reward to a person – rather, the person provides his own reward. (See Nefesh Hachaim, Section 1, Chapter 12). That is the meaning of the statement in the Mishna: “All your actions are recorded in a book” [Avot 1:2]. The person himself is the book where all of his actions are recorded.

All of this means that the dilemma of evil that happens to a righteous person cannot be solved within the framework of “If you follow My decrees” [Vayikra 26:3]. This is in fact only one of the dimensions of Divine guidance, which the Ramchal calls “guidance of justice” as opposed to “guidance of uniqueness” (see “Da’at Tevunot”). The latter encompasses broad consideration of the goals of human history. It can very well happen that when a righteous person suffers it is not because of a specific sin but rather that he needs to modify his identity in order to be better integrated into historical changes taking place during his time. This is what happened to Job, who was made to suffer in spite of his absolute righteousness when the time came for him to join in Abraham’s righteous style (see Bava Batra 15b). The internal need for change can lead to changing experiences which can cause the person’s character to change. As the sages have written, “Suffering can cleanse a person’s entire body (that is, his identity)” [Berachot 5a].

Two proofs are given to show that there is a Divine source for the Torah. But they must be understood in depth and not simply in accord with the folk approach – that millions of people would not lie about the description of an event, especially not to their children. This approach will not withstand objective criticism, and the only thing it can accomplish is to strengthen the conviction those who were already convinced beforehand. We will be able to find satisfactory answers by delving more deeply into the matter.

First of all, we must note that revelation is a formative event in the history of a nation. A national identity is not the result of a willful choice. Rather, it is born within the nation and it is in fact an element that is forced on the people. Every national identity is built up on a basis of collective psychology which stems from powerful events that leave a deep impression within the nation. If the event took place before the era of history began, it is clouded in doubt, and it may well be a myth spawned by imagination. This is not true of an event that took place after the national identity was formed, such as the story of the wars of Troy or the Exodus from Egypt and the giving of the Torah. In such cases we can verify that the event did indeed take place – not because there are witnesses but as a result of the strong impression it left on the public awareness.

In addition, the character of a story can by itself be an indication of the truth. This is especially true for a story that is beyond the limits of human imagination. While it is true that there are stories of individual or collective revelation in all cultures, such that they might indeed be the fruits of imagination, these stories always, without exception, involve an “immanent” deity who is internal to the world and not transcendental revelation by a G-d who created the world and is external to it. The only story where the revealed one is the Creator Himself is the one that is told by the Children of Israel. And in fact the written description of the event emphasizes that the people who experienced the revelation were wary of participating. Clearly, the interference of the Creator in the natural course of events can interfere with the spiritual stability of man, and it would never occur to mankind to invent such a story even with the goal of establishing a new religion. All others who developed a new religion spoke only of revelation by an entity that is part of creation, such that it did not undermine the foundation of existence.

We must also try to refine the concept of a Divine Torah, from heaven. Rav A.Y. Kook explains, a man can admit that the Torah came from heaven, but he might be referring to a very low level of heaven. This paints the one who gave the Torah as a pedantic accountant collecting the relative weights of mitzvot as compared to sins. And there are others who feel that they deny the Divine origin of the Torah while at the same time they search for a source of the Torah among the highest levels of human wisdom and morality. Such an approach is in fact very close to the true definition of Torah from heaven.

“The work of creation should not be taught in the presence of two, or the work of the heavenly Chariot in the presence of one.” [Mishna Chagiga 2:1]. The terminology used by the sages to refer to the mystic parts of the Torah was explained in different ways in the study halls. The approach of the Rambam is well-known: The “work of creation” refers to physics or natural sciences, while the “work of the Chariot” refers to metaphysics or Divine wisdom. The source for these terms is in Greek philosophy, and because of that some people are very critical of the Rambam’s commentary (for example, the RAN in his sermons and Rabbi Meir Ibn Gabbai in his book, Avodat Hakodesh). They felt that the existence of the mystic secrets of Yisrael is an independent phenomenon, rooted in the words of the prophets, which is the essence of the Kabbalah.

Even though the Rambam is not part of the community of Kabbalah masters and his writings are strongly opposed to their approach (for example in volume 1 of Moreh Nevuchim, Chapters 61-62), it appears that his sensitive ear caught some inputs from the traditions of our nation that cannot be constrained into a mundane philosophical approach. This can be seen from what he wrote: “This is because it includes matters which are embedded in the hearts of the most perfect people. And when these matters are explained using language and parables they lose their flavor and are removed from their true meaning.” [Rambam’s commentary on the above Mishna, as translated by Rabbi Joseph Kapach]. The Rambam wrote this passage before he wrote his philosophical commentary, where he wrote the following: “Now listen to me about what has become clear to me based on my own study of the words of the sages. This is that they call the works of creation the natural sciences…” From this it is absolutely clear that the first commentary that appeared above came to him through traditional sources, while the second one is based on his own analysis.

Mystic secrets will always remain secret, and they can never be explained by words. Even so, the need to provide a response to spiritual challenges that come from the outside world makes it necessary now and then to present the mysticism in a way that corresponds to the external competition. The mystic approach can be summarized as having passed through five successive time periods:

(1) The ancient era, when the main spiritual opponent was pagan mythology. This was opposed by prophecy, using all its power. This was in essence the Kabbalah itself, as Rashi indicates: “Words of Kabbalah – the Prophets and the Writings. The master of all of these was our Teacher, Moses.” [Bava Kama 2b].

(2) The era after prophecy, where a yearning arose for the revelation whose time had passed, as expressed in the mysticism of the other nations. On the other hand, the greatest of the Tana’im, led by Rabban Shimon Bar Yochai, translated the mystic approach into a study of the mystic Chariot.

(3) In the Middle Ages, Greek philosophy reigned supreme, while at the same time the approach of Kabbalah in its familiar form appeared. This reached its peak with the teachings of the ARI.

(4) The other nations became involved in spiritual matters through such approaches as romanticism, psychology, and psychoanalysis. This was countered by the mystic approach as clothed in Chassidic spiritualism, founded by the Baal Shem Tov.

(5) When the collective consciousness rose up once again as characterized by nationalism on one hand and socialism on the other hand, the approach of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook appeared, as the final version of the spirit of prophecy.

Aristotle (in his essay “Politics”) defines mankind as a political animal (see the Kuzari, by Yehuda Halevi, 1:35). The need to live in a community is so essential to man that no serious philosopher ever proposed returning to the primordial state where man was completely alone without any links to some kind of society and therefore to its highest form of expression, the state.

However, it is still difficult to define a state. The attempt by Jean-Jacques Rousseau to describe a “social contract” where every individual surrenders a measure of his personal freedom in return for the desires of the community is not very clear. When was a referendum held where the people agreed to take part in this contract? It must be that political life is based on creating an imaginary entity which has no real existence in the worlds of feeling or the intellect, which can be called “the state.” The Rambam writes that political life is founded on imagination: “If [Divine] abundance would only appear to one who has an imagination, this would be relevant to those who lead the states.” [Moreh Nevuchim 2:37].

The state also has a utilitarian meaning: “If not for fear of authority, every man would swallow up his colleague alive” (see Avot 3:2).

However, the very fact that an entity exists which controls the lives of human beings creates a degree of discomfort for the Jew of faith. After all, G-d is the King, and any attempt to establish an alternative authority in the form of the state can be interpreted as a revolt against the Kingdom of G-d! The fear of such a phenomenon is the internal kernel of the approach of the Rebbe of Satmar, who viewed the establishment of the State of Israel, even if it would be religious, as a revolt against G-d.

It is true that this opinion has been rejected by the halacha, since establishing this state is a positive mitzva from the Torah (Ramban’s comments on the Sefer Hamtizvot, Positive Mitzva No. 4). But the wariness of transforming the sovereign power into a replacement for divinity is worthy of deeper study. In the same blessing of the Amidah where we ask G-d to give us back our kingdom, “Return our judges and our advisors to us as in the beginning,” we also ask at the same time, “And reign over us, G-d, all alone.” Thus, the earthly kingdom must be organized in such a way that the Divine Kingdom is reflected from within it. And for this reason government authority is not vested in a single power but is shared by four basic ruling entities: the king, the judges, the priests, and the prophets. (In Hebrew, this is – Melech, shofet, kohen, navi – which forms an acrostic of the word “Mishkan” – the Tabernacle.)

Among the other nations, the purpose of the separation of powers is to prevent one branch of the government from taking complete control, but for the nation of Yisrael the purpose of the separation of powers is to declare that the sovereign power belongs to G-d alone, and He is the only source of merciful leadership for our nation.

The task of the State of Israel is to be “the basis for the Throne of G-d in the world” [Rav Kook, Orot, page 160], and to serve as an inspiration for the entire world.

One of the forty-eight traits by which the Torah is acquired is “faith in the sages” [Avot 6:6]. This is usually taken to mean that one of our basic elements of faith is that the Jewish sages do not make mistakes. But it is eminently clear that this interpretation cannot be right, for there is no person on earth who is completely immune from making a mistake. In fact, we have seen many cases where the sages admitted their mistakes. Who is greater than Moshe himself, about whom it is written, “And Moshe heard, and it was good in his eyes” [Leviticus 10:20]? Rashi explains, “He was not ashamed to admit that he had not heard this before.” The following also appears in the responsa literature: “The praise of the rabbis is that they admit their mistakes.” That is, the fact that the wise men admit that they were wrong is to their credit.

The very existence of the tractate of Horayot, which contains a list of mistaken rulings by the high courts, also shows that errors occur. In fact, the Torah has forbidden us to follow a halachic ruling if we are absolutely certain that the court has made a mistake. “We might think that if they tell you that right is left and that left is right that you should follow them. However, it is written, ‘to go to the right and to the left.’ They should tell you that the right is the right and the left is the left.” [Yerushalmi Horayot 1:1]. And when the Sifri instructs us to follow “even though they show you what you have seen in your eyes is right and tell you it is left,” this is referring only to matters of personal discretion.

This position, the feeling that our wise men are never wrong, is dangerous from two points of view. One aspect is simple, and that is that when a person encounters a mistake made by a wise man his entire spiritual world might crumble before his eyes. The second aspect is deeper, in that it attributes to a created entity a characteristic which is only true in reference to the Creator Himself. This is the meaning of what the Rambam wrote: “Only He is the truth” [Hilchot Yesodei HaTorah 1:4].

What, then, is the wondrous trait of faith in the sages which is needed in order to gain possession of the Torah? Rabbi Yehuda Ashkenazi explains that it means to believe that the sages are wise. That is, their words are not pronounced in a chance or haphazard way. Therefore, if one thinks that it is necessary to reject their words, the idea that is being rejected must be scrutinized in great depth, because we can be sure that it is based on great wisdom and can teach us an important lesson. If the wise men taught us that “there is nothing that does not have its proper place” [Avot 4:3], this must certainly apply to the words of the sages themselves.

While we commonly see a contradiction between admiration and free criticism, our sages have taught us that one of these traits enables the other one. They said, “Let your house be a meeting place for wise men, and you should roll around in the dust of their feet” [Avot 1:4]. Here is how this was interpreted by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin: “the word ‘lehitavek’ is related to the word for a struggle. No student should ever blindly accept the words of his rabbi if he has questions about his approach, and there are even times when the student is right and not the rabbi. But while we have permission to bring evidence to prove our position, we must still maintain an attitude of humility – to be ‘in the dust of their feet.’”

Just what is the soul of man? There have been many attempts to define it. There are some who try to constrict it into the tiny realm of biomolecules, what is called the “animal soul,” so that when a person dies his soul also disappears. Some even view it as an illusion, leading to the conclusion that man has no soul even while he is alive. As opposed to these approaches, the religious masters insist that the soul is eternal, and that it is a spark of the Divine which can never be destroyed.

This primal question was debated by the disciples of Aristotle, Alexander of Aphrodisias and Themistius. The first one felt that the soul of man is basically identical with the animal soul but that it has a potential, a “readiness,” to become eternal by the study of philosophy if it has merit. The second one felt that the soul is eternal from the beginning but that it has to enhance its perfection. These two approaches were adopted by the Rambam and the Ramban, respectively. Rav Kook put forward an innovative approach, that this describes the difference between the souls of Yisrael and those of the other nations (Olat Re’Iyah volume 2, page 156).

If we look at this matter without any prior opinions, we cannot ignore the fact that there is in mankind a constant tension between two types of identity. On one hand, I am pulled to my natural animal outlook, which is called “dust of the earth” and a “serpent” in the Torah. On the other hand, I encounter within me a personality, a “me” which cannot be reduced to a biological machine, and it constantly thirsts for the metaphysical and for moral values. This can be called “the living soul” or “a part of G-d above.” The encounter between these two elements creates the actual man: “a living soul.”

This leads almost automatically to the division in the levels of the soul that was described by the masters of Kabbalah: Nefesh (soul), Ruach (air), and Neshamah (spirit), which are described by the sages (Bereishit Rabba 14). The nefesh, which is combined with the body (see the Zohar: “body and soul are one”), is identical to the revealed “me,” and it accompanies man from the first moment of his own awareness. The neshamah represents the most noble and ideal dimension of mankind, and it is buried deep within his identity. The ruach represents the changing relationship between the nefesh and the neshamah. This is the least stable element of mankind, where the labors of his life take place. A parallel can be drawn between the triplet nefesh-ruach-neshama and the times: past, present, and future. The nefesh is involved in the past and the neshama is related to the ideal of the future, while the ruach is the present in which man operates.

Who, then, is the man about whom we discuss the nefesh, the ruach, and the neshamah? We cannot allow ourselves to view mankind as nothing more than an assembly of separate parts. We must assume that man has a self-consciousness which precedes these three characteristics. This is what is called: “chayah” – an “animal.” It represents the general life, which is the essence of mankind.

Every soul (neshamah) is an expression of the Divine will and serves as part of the general plan of G-d. We can thus say that every soul is related in some way to infinity – and this is called “yechidah” – a unique unit.

What do we mean when we say that all men are free? These words have a legal connotation which has found its way into the Bill of Rights, stating that all men are free as long as their actions do not impinge on the freedom of another person. The exact boundary between conflicting freedoms will be set by specific laws.

However, the legal statement has nothing to say about independent character traits of people. Why do I make the choices that I do? Do I have a tendency to act the way I do because of the influence of factors over which I have no control? We can say that legal freedom is given to a person specifically because it is hard to believe that he is truly free, and it would therefore be patently unfair to demand that he act in a way that is different from his natural tendency.

The approach which denies that man is truly free is called determinism. This approach has taken several forms. One of these is astrology, which feels that the fate of a person is set by the status of the stars at the moment of his birth. There is also biological determinism, which feels that everything depends on genetic factors, and Greek fatalism, which believes in blind fate. Islam believes in prior fate, in that everything is set in advance by a decision of the Creator, or psychoanalytical determinism, which searches for the roots of behavior in basic trauma of childhood, or the historicism of Karl Marx, which blames everything on a class war. There are also some who claim that human behavior depends on effects of society, education, or other factors.

As opposed to all of these approaches, the outlook of Judaism stands out with all its power. It views man as a completely free being with respect to the choice between good and evil. Rambam bases this approach on four points: (1) The very fact that the mitzvot exist assumes that sin is possible (see Shemona Perakim, Chapter 8). (2) Reward and punishment would be unjust if there were no free choice. (3) Study. (4) Preparation to ward off damage.

However, we are still left with one basic question. The very fact that we are born into the world is an act of coercion. And here we have a surprising fact in the Talmud which completes the picture. “All of the products of creation agreed to be formed – they were asked if they wanted to be created and they replied in the affirmative.” [Rosh Hashanah 11a, and see Rashi]. That is, every creature chose the conditions under which it would exist and the space where its free choice would have an expression – and this took place before it was created, at a stage where the difference between its own will and that of the Creator was not yet defined. And this includes the choice of belonging to a specific nation – to Israel or to the other nations.

This idea can be seen in the Mishna: Against your will you are created, born, live, die, and give a reckoning of your deeds (Avot 4:29). The unavoidable chain of events begins with “being created.” This corresponds to the stage where a fetus has reached forty days after fertilization (Sanhedrin 91b). That is the point when the biological recognition of existence begins, and not before.

It is often said that a Gentile has no soul. However, this statement is rooted in a misunderstanding of the sources which discuss the matter.

The most widely publicized source is the Tanya, Chapters 1 and 2: “Every man from Israel has two souls. One soul is related to the mystical shell… and this is the source of all evil traits… In addition, the good traits which are natural for the Children of Israel… come from there… This is not true for the souls of the other nations… which do not have any good at all… And the second soul within Israel is a part of G-d above in an absolutely real way (mamash).”

Some people understand this to mean that the other nations do not have a second soul, a “neshama,” at all. However, I heard directly from Rabbi Yehuda Ashkenazi, who heard it directly from Rabbi Yitzchak Shnierson, the cousin of the Rebbe of Lubavitch, that the above sentence should be read with a comma in the appropriate place, implying a very different meaning: “The second soul, which in Israel is a direct part of G-d above…” Thus, the second soul exists among the Gentiles too, and it is part of G-d, but it is not an “absolutely real” element.

If we do not understand the passage in this way, we might well ask how we can demand that Gentiles behave in a moral way, if they have no Divine foundation in their souls. However, we must understand that every human being has an element of purity in their soul, but in the Gentiles this does not appear in their “animal” soul but rather in their “second” soul. It is then clear why for a Gentile spiritual uplifting requires a very large effort, while a Jew can find a path to moral purity within his first-level human nature.

The essence of the difference between the “precision” of the soul of Israel and the “imprecise” character of the other nations can be seen from what Rav Kook writes – that for the other nations eternity can be acquired by those who desire it by perfecting their souls with deeper understanding and with good deeds. But anyone who does not want to do this can “opt out” and not be involved in the effort. This is not true of a person from Israel, who is forced to establish a relationship to eternity, and who is required to bear the yoke of purging of sin and of suffering until he manages to perfect his soul. (Olat Re’Iyah, volume 2, page 156).

Rav Kook elaborates on this when he explains that a person from Israel must maintain a relationship with the community, while this is not required for other nations (Orot, page 144). This implies that the soul of an individual is what links him to the community. While it is true that the people of the other nations have a community soul (see Orot, page 156), which Daniel calls “the minister of the nation,” the individual does not receive his moral and spiritual nourishment from this, and for this reason he does not have an obligation to the entire community.

We can therefore understand the aspiration which is voiced by the people of Israel twice every day in the “Shema” – that the ministers be removed from their tasks, and that all the creatures in the world will revert to being protected directly by the shadow of the G-d of Israel.

“G-d, who is now our G-d and not that of the other nations [who are under the control of the ministers], will in the future become ‘One G-d.’ As is written, ‘Then I will have the nations revert to a clear language, so that they will all call out in the name of G-d, and serve Him in unison.’ [Tzephania 3:9].” [Rashi].

Baruch Spinoza wrote in his book of ethics (volume 4, pages 53-54) that in spite of the fact that the people of the world think humility is a good thing, it is really bad because it is an emotion of the soul, which is saddened by its failures. Therefore, in his opinion, wise men should not show any humility. On the other hand, he feels that it is good to continue to teach the ignorant masses which are drawn to follow their lusts to show humility, because that is the best way to get them to accept the words of the wise men, with humility. One the other hand, Spinoza is very much opposed to pride (page 55), which he defines as when a man does not know his true status.

Spinoza’s approach is diametrically opposed to the Torah outlook, which praises the master of all prophets as “more humble than any other man on the face of the earth” [Numbers 12:3].

There must be some substantive theological reason for this difference between the impure and the pure, which can be attributed to the general world outlook of Spinoza, who has a reputation of being a master of ethics. Evidently his rejection of humility stems from his refusal to accept the Divine unique trait, the transcendental aspect of the Creator. Since according to Spinoza’s approach G-d is essentially nature, in the end man himself is a deity, and he is therefore not required to belittle himself in deference to anybody else. According to this approach, humility is nothing more than weakness. As opposed to this outlook, those who really know G-d and understand the absolute gap between the infinite deity and the world achieve an exalted type of humility which leads them to an uplifting, and the result is a joyful attachment through a light which is beyond their apprehension.

These considerations can help us solve a dilemma in Ramchal’s book, Messilat Yesharim. Ramchal first notes that it is necessary to condemn pride in the earliest stages of improving behavior. However, in the details of the trait of “cleanliness” (Chapter 11), which is a necessary trait for a person to fulfill his obligation to become righteous (beginning of Chapter 13), he delays the explanation of the essence of humility until much more advanced stages of ethical development (Chapters 22, 23). This is because it is not possible to achieve real humility without first gaining an understanding of G-d, which can be learned only upon reaching a state of righteousness. If I truly know G-d it follows as a matter of course that I will be filled with humility towards Him. This is not simply a rejection of the foolishness of pride but rather a clear recognition of the status of humanity, which has nothing other than what G-d has given it.

Based on these considerations, it is clear why the Rambam views the concept of humility in a different way than Muhammad Al-Farabi, a renowned Arab philosopher, although the Rambam usually accepts his outlook on the soul. Al-Farabi feels that as for other traits the proper way is the middle road, not to take an extreme position. However, when the Rambam gives practical advice about humility he advises an extreme approach – that is, complete humility. And this is the difference between Yisrael and the other nations.